


The Smile of the Crowd (The Roar of the Victor)

by rossetti, sloganeer



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-14
Updated: 2008-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rossetti/pseuds/rossetti, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>China looked big from the plane, but here on the ground, it seems doable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smile of the Crowd (The Roar of the Victor)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank yous to Beijing, CBC, and NBC for boys in shorts and boys in Speedos.

They have to buy tickets for 2010, to cheer on friends and crash Team Canada's party. They're not here to compete, not this time around, but they're all here. It's February, as cold as it's going to get on the coast, still too cold for the Vegas boys, but Jon's wearing his flip flops.

"Seriously?" Spencer asks.

They step out of the hotel, all wrapped up in Ryan's scarves.

"Only because it annoys you, Spence." There are a lot of things Jon does only because it annoys Spencer. Brendon says it keeps the reflexes sharp.

Yesterday, they were in Vancouver, watching short track speedskating and sleeping on the floor of some dude Zack said was cool. Then Spencer drove them up to Whistler, Ryan in the passenger seat with the map and Jon in the back with snacks. Spencer has their tickets, too. He won't let anyone else touch them, but he does hold them up for Brendon to see when Brendon won't stop whining.

"It's troubling how easy you give in," Jon teases. Spencer glares.

Whistler Village is packed, surprisingly tiny, and clearly not built for the purpose of hosting the world's athletes--and a reporter and camera for each one. Brendon disappears quickly into the crowd.

"You guys, come on," he calls back, like a child to his parents, lagging behind.

Spencer huffs and follows. "If you get lost, there'll be no search party. You'll have to become a Canadian." He jogs after Brendon and disappears behind a woman in fur. Jon doesn't want to run. He's got three cameras around his neck. Ryan holds out his arm, Jon takes it, and, together, they follow their friends up the mountain.

-

With a coach who also teaches grade nine math and the racket he found in his grandpa's garage, Jon is ranked 6th on the US Junior circuit. His mom travels with him when they go to meets outside Illinois and his brothers collect his homework for the days Jon misses school. But he doesn't miss school, not really. If the badminton thing doesn't work out, he's got the photos he took along the way.

After Jon wins the Capri Sun Under-18 Invitational, the kid in second place asks if he's ever thought about playing doubles. Jon hasn't, but only because all his friends would rather make fun of his shorts than come see him play.

Holding out a hand, bright blue racket tucked under his arm, bright red goggles pushed up on his head, the kid in second place introduces himself. "Brendon Urie," he says, "and I think this is about to become a whole new world."

-

Ryan starts diving because it gives him an excuse to get out of the house in the summers.

Swimming would have been a weak excuse. He can't remember a time when he couldn't swim, what with the Smiths' backyard pool. One day, when he's twelve and lonely and waiting for Spencer to get home, he kills time by diving in, swimming to the other end, climbing out and starting over, again and again, the danger of hitting his head part of the appeal, the scrapes on his knees and cuts in his toes burning enough to keep him focused but not enough to make him stop.

He's gasping and exhausted after only twenty minutes but he loves the adrenaline of hitting the water as hard as he can. By the time Spencer actually shows up, in his swimsuit and wearing a pissy expression, Ryan's just floating and staring at the sky.

"How long have you been here? I was upstairs waiting but Mom saw you."

He shrugs. "Long enough."

When Ginger calls his dad, she tells him that there were two-for-one youth diving lessons at the local YMCA. It's a complete lie. Ryan never knows how to thank her.

-

Sometimes, Jon wishes he was a road biker or a triathlete. He watches with envy as the whole field lines up at the start and takes off with the gun for one big race. Instead, he chose badminton with its rounds of rounds, and some days, Jon thinks he waits more than he plays.

They won their first match, but that was three hours ago, and far too early in the morning to really count. Brendon sits beside him, cross-legged on the floor now, twitching and humming and watching the Danes lose, badly. Jon's antsy, too. He wants to get out of the gym--maybe see something of China--but he made himself promise: not until the medals. Also, the Team USA shorts are uncomfortable. Jon stands up again, taking another appreciative look at the Chinese architecture so it doesn't look like he's adjusting himself.

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and he falls back into his chair, hard.

Tall, lithe, blond, it's the Australians, looking down at Brendon and Jon like the match has already begun.

One of them says, "See you on the court, Mixed Doubles," and they keep on walking. Jon closes his eyes, sees his racket, the net, and himself, smacking the Australians in the face.

Brendon's off the floor when Jon looks again. He's watching the Australians settle in on the other side of the court. "I still don't get it," he says. He looks down at Jon. "Am I the girl or is it you?"

-

"One, two, three," Spencer counts them off, perfectly paced, and they walk through the routine side-by-side near the hot tub, mimicking the turns they'll take in the air. He ends a quarter-beat before Spencer and he blows out a frustrated breath of hot air and scratches at his hair.

Two more dives until they're up.

"Again," Spencer says softly, and pulls his hand off his head. He squeezes tight, once, holding Ryan's gaze for an intense second before turning and positioning himself as Ryan's mirror. They breathe in. When Ryan holds it Spencer waits for him, then counts them off, starting halfway through the exhale. This time they end at exactly the same time.

They're ready for the water.

-

"Me! Please! Me!" Brendon waves his left hand high in the air and ignores Zack when he rolls his eyes. Zack always asks them who wants to lead warm ups. Brendon always wants to and always gets to.

"I dunno, I think Brendon should lead," Jon straightens from a stretch. "Y'know, since he never does." Brendon shoots him an approving smile.

Zack glares at them, one then the other, and mutters, "Start with jumping jacks."

"You know you love it!" Brendon snaps a pointer finger at Zack then moves so he's facing Jon and pulls his goggles down to hang around his neck. He hates going on court with goggle lines on his forehead.

"This feels very '80s inspirational montage," Jon tells him when they switch to jogging in place.

Brendon hums the Rocky theme song while they jump rope, wishing they had some stairs to run up and down.

-

Ryan always looks for Spencer in the stands when he's on deck alone.

Spencer's always there, legs casually crossed as he stares at Ryan with an eyebrow raised, waiting for Ryan to find him. He'll roll his eyes if it takes Ryan long since he seems to think that Ryan should just be able to find him like that, even in a crowd of thousands.

Ryan knows Spencer will be there, knows it in his blood, but he just cannot dive until he sees him.

Ryan doesn't like it like this, leaving Spencer after warming up (and Spencer always warms up with him, even when he's not competing), waiting alone in the hot tub and watching the other divers. It's part of his highly coveted contract: springboard solo if he wants synchro with Spencer, and bonuses for medals.

His eyes stray to the digital boards when he doesn't have Spencer's warmth next to him. When he's alone he'll start to try to do the math, to figure out how good he'll need to be, how (impossibly) perfect. With Spencer, he doesn't think about anything but deep, steady, synchronized breathing and warm water and Spencer's blue eyes waiting for him when they surface.

"Ready, Ross?" Pete asks and Ryan couples his hands above his head and bends backwards, folding himself nearly in half.

"Fuck yeah," he smiles when he comes back up and sees Spencer on his feet, arms crossed and staring pointedly at him. "Let's do this shit."

-

"Guitar, voice, piano, painting, pottery, and skiing. Oh, and horseback riding."

Jon keeps count on his fingers. "All before you were 12?"

"And then badminton. That was it. I kinda fell in love." Brendon taps his racket against his leg. He probably doesn't even know he's doing it. "Something finally fit."

Jon understands that. He doesn't understand the rest. "But what's with the rest?"

"Oh, I had a lot of energy as a kid."

"As a kid?"

"Shut up." He punches Jon's arm. "My mom had to keep me busy. There's only so much time you can spend at church, though my parents certainly tried."

"Huh." Jon supposes he needs to tell Brendon something big, since they're apparently the best of friends now. "Do you think--" Brendon looks at him with those eyes and that grin. "Do you think we can go all the way?"

He doesn't dare say what he's always dreamed about, but Brendon seems to know. We fit, Brendon said, their first day on the YMCA courts where Jon practices every night after dinner. They fit like this, too, he supposes, because Brendon smiles big and says, "How do you know we're not already there?"

-

"We're leaving the diving team," Ryan informs Spencer as they're sitting in the late afternoon sun, drying off from a swim. It's the type of day Ryan wishes the Smiths' pool were deep enough for diving.

"Ryan, what the fuck?" Ryan has to hide a smile at the annoyance in Spencer's voice. He'd made Spencer practice every time he practiced, taught him everything he'd learned in the terrible year Ryan had been in high school and Spencer hadn't. There's no doubt Spencer deserves his place next to Ryan on the Bishop Gorman Junior Varsity Diving Team, eight members strong.

"Remember when I made you take those videos of me diving?" Spencer had mocked him ceaselessly for weeks, teasing him for wanting to put videos of himself in a Speedo online.

"Ryan?" Spencer's tone is foreboding.

"I took some of you, too--"

"What?" Spencer sits up in a fierce move and Ryan huddles back in his seat.

"I sent them to a coach in Chicago. His name's Pete." Spencer's staring at him with an unbelieving look. "He wants to coach us. He believed me when I said we'd be perfect for synchro." Spencer's eyes are huge.

"What are you saying?" Spencer demands. Ryan squares his shoulders.

"Synchro's going to be huge now, it was a hit in Sydney. And we're probably too young for Athens," or Spencer is, at least, but if Spencer is then Ryan might as well be, "but I think we have a shot for Beijing, if we work at it."

"You motherfucking pimp," Spencer breathes out. "You've been fucking dreaming this the entire time, haven't you?"

Ryan's never said any of it out loud before now. "Yes."

Spencer leans back in his chair, a mulish expression taking over his features. "Well, we'd be fucked for platform, you'll never have the arm muscles to start from handstand. We'll have to do springboard only."

"Fuck you," Ryan responds, grinning. They're so golden.

-

They trounce the Australians. Tall they may be, but this is Brendon and Jon's first crack at the Olympics, and even they weren't aware of the energy they had inside, waiting to come out. Jon will always remember the look on number 14's face when Brendon fell to the floor, but still got the birdie over the net. They weren't expecting that.

NBC wasn't expecting that either. There's no one at the venue to interview Brendon and Jon when they go two for two. After a quick celebration on the sidelines, Jon gets Zack to put Brendon down and get them the hell out of there. Outside, through the crowds, Jon keeps his head down and lets Zack lead them back to the village. They'll drop their bags and grab a quick shower before Ryan's prelims. Spencer's probably already there.

"He could have come to our first game at least," Brendon is saying when Jon comes back from the bathroom. They had a good crowd--lots of Chinese--but no one there to see them. With events happening all over at all times, it's hard for friends to see each other play. Still, Spencer's done. It would have been nice to see him at the gym.

"You know how nervous he gets when Ryan dives without him."

"What about how nervous I get?" Brendon whines.

Jon drags him out the door. Zack begs off to go over tape of their two matches, and Jon knows there will be notes when they get back. First, he's going to watch his friend dive. Because Jon knows how much it means to see a familiar face in the crowd.

-

Ryan wins bronze. Even he's surprised.

The Americans weren't really expected to medal in the solo men's diving events so the crowd had been foreign and politely silent after each of his dives. Except for Spencer, Jon, and Brendon, who had cheered as if they were at a football game.

Ryan's uncertain what he should do, other than get out of the hot tub. He wants to go and hug Spencer but the medal ceremony probably starts soon and he needs to change before he gets on the stand, he thinks. He's never seen a medal ceremony picture with someone still in their diving trunks.

The ceremony passes in a blur, already faded in his memory to flashes--Ryan's hand colder than the official's when they shake, the surprising weight of the medal around his neck, the relative briefness of the Chinese national anthem--and it's only when Spencer's arms wrap around him, when Spencer lifts him off the ground, that everything crashes back into focus in a technicolor whirl.

"Holy fuck, Ryan!!" Spencer keeps shouting in his ear, and Jon's snapping pictures of them and grinning and Brendon's arms weasel around Spencer to grab him and holy fuck he won an Olympic medal.

He pulls back and Spencer's eyes are shiny, tears welling up in the corners. He ducks down to slip the medal off his neck and settles it in Spencer's hands. "Not without you, Spence," he whispers into Spencer's temple and now he's crying, too, damn it.

"Holy fuck," Spencer repeats, softer, his eyes huge.

"Where's my medal, then, Ross!" Brendon shouts, fully wriggling between Ryan and Spencer and throwing his arms around Ryan's neck.

"You'll win your own, later," he responds, cupping Brendon's hips to steady himself, and Jon's delighted laugh floats over them as he takes one more photo.

-

"There is no WAY my mom is letting me move to Los Angeles!" Spencer hisses at Ryan. Ryan nods and smiles at Pete across the room, then curls an arm around Spencer and turns them so they're facing the wall.

"Look, he's taking us seriously," Ryan whispers in his ear. "This is it, Spence. If he thinks we need to train in LA, we should probably train in LA."

Spencer passes a hand over his face, pausing to dig the heel of his hand into his eye, then pulls at his ear to stop himself from shaking his head. "Fine, but you have to be with me when I talk to my mom." His mom's a sucker for Ryan but he knows that'll just be the first step.

He's barely seventeen. He's never going to be as good at diving as Ryan is and he's pretty sure Ryan will never acknowledge that. He's fucking good at doing exactly what Ryan is doing, though.

Ryan kisses his shoulder then walks off silently to talk to Pete. Spencer heads into the locker room and steps into the shower and thinks about the prom he'll never go to and how he had to miss his sisters' birthday for a qualifying heat last year and about how Ryan is never happier than when he's five feet to Spencer's right, just stepping on to a diving platform.

He resists the impulse to punch the wall and instead turns to let the water spray him in the face, washing away the chlorine and unacknowledged tears.

-

They get really good really fast. Jon clicks, and it feels the same way it felt when Brendon first picked up a racket. Tournaments take them to Washington, Wisconsin, and West Virginia. They train in Chicago, and Brendon doesn't miss home at all.

It's after the win at Nationals that people start talking about the Olympics. Sports Illustrated wants to include them in a Next Generation feature.

At a photo shoot in LA, Jon and Brendon are shoved between a mountain biker and a pair of divers.

"Synchronized diving," Brendon whispers. "Like that's a sport."

Jon snorts a laugh into Brendon's shoulder. The divers are looking. The tall one is sneering, a genuine sneer. Brendon's impressed. He wishes he could make his face look like that.

There's a flash. The shoot passes like that, too. Brendon thinks he smiles, and he's only sure he's actually there because Jon's hand is at his back. It's quieter than he expected. He thought it would be fun, but Jon looks nervous, the divers look pissed, and Brendon doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. So he goes for the laugh.

"I'm gonna get naked now, is that cool?"

Jon says, "Um," and the girl in the helmet stalks away after Brendon's shirt comes off.

-

Jon breaks his promise to himself, and they get out of Village to party that night. Ryan won a fucking bronze medal at the Olympics--Jon figures he's allowed the night. He and Brendon have the round of 8 on Friday and a whole day to recover. Jon's letting himself have one beer, he'll watch Brendon extra close, and Zack doesn't have to know a thing.

They walk out of the dorms, signing out at the security building, and heading in the opposite direction of the Bird's Nest. Jon's wearing his favorite jeans and flip flops, and the first t-shirt he pulled out of his duffel was Team USA issue, so he goes with it. Brendon looks much the same, like they're on the court, not making their way down one of Beijing's narrow alleyways. Pulling his camera around, Jon lifts it up to focus on Ryan and Spencer up ahead. Already, Jon feels like he's missing things, like he won't have enough photos to remember all this. He takes three of Ryan and Spencer, walking with their heads together. They're done now, and Ryan wasted no time at all ditching the sanctioned Olympic uniform. At least the scarf is red, white, and blue. Spencer uses it to keep Ryan close.

"Noodle house! Noodle house!" Brendon jumps up and down in the window. Jon takes a picture, his best friend framed by the yards of long white noodles hanging on a wooden frame. He startles when Ryan and Spencer come up behind him. They put their arms around Jon.

"The Olympic champion wants noodles," Spencer says in his ear.

Inside, Brendon's already claimed them a table.

-

Spencer has to drag Ryan out of bed for Jon and Brendon's next match. Spencer doesn't particularly care that Ryan's only slept two hours - Spencer distinctly remembers waking up to cold hands on his belly at 3am - or that Ryan'd been drinking last night in celebration, they're going to the match in time for warm-ups. Before warm-ups. And he's going to ignore Ryan for a few minutes and remind himself that Ryan would normally be the first person in line to support their friends. The medal hasn't gone to his head at all, really, Spencer's sure of it.

When he comes back from the bathroom--maybe he'd stalked away, a bit, after Ryan had just rolled over and grunted at him the second time Spencer had tried to wake him, just maybe--Ryan's half-dressed and trying to fish something out from under the bed.

"I have no clue how this slipped under here," Ryan's voice echoes oddly back at him. "Sure, I was tipsy, but I was being careful, too."

Spencer rolls his eyes and goes to help. His arms are longer. He puts his hand on what feels like a rolled of paper. He can't help his curiosity and slides the rubber band off, then opens it.

It's a Michael Phelps poster.

"Ryan, what?" he turns to where Ryan's fixing his hair in front of the mirror. Ryan's actually back in his Team USA track jacket, despite his previously stated intent to never wear it again.

"Other side." Ryan turns around to face him with a sheepish expression.

Spencer flips it over and can't help but grin.

"MIXED DOUBLES FOR THE WIN!" the sign proclaims in Ryan's elaborate, poster sized scrawl. There are surprisingly detailed flowers and hearts and exclamation points all over the place.

"I got kinda fixated last night," Ryan explains after Spencer's given him a brief kiss. "It had to be perfect."

"I think they'll love it," Spencer rolls it up with a few quick flicks of his wrists. "And I think we'd better be going."

-

"Oh shit!" Brendon yelps as he runs back into their room. "It's the synchronized divers!" he stage-whispers before he jumps into Jon's bed and buries his head under the pillow.

Brendon knows very well that he has no room to judge, but when the synchronized divers had emerged from the dressing room in their little matching outfits he'd had a bit of a problem with laughing. Laughing like it looked like he was laughing at them, what with the way he'd buried his head in Jon's shoulder, but he was laughing with them, truly. He understands unfortunate outfits!

Jon lifts the pillow off his face. "Our training roommates are the synchro divers?" He has a huge grin on his face.

"And I bet they hate me," Brendon confirms, reaching up to grab for the pillow.

"Naw," Jon avoids his hands and drops the pillow back onto his face. "They only hated you til the stylist yelled at you to put some damn clothing back on."

He tucks the pillow under his head. "Yeah?"

"No, they still hate you," Jon tells him earnestly.

-

Spencer frowns at the mostly full bowl in Ryan's hands. "Just fucking eat it already."

"I am so fucking sick of complex carbohydrates," Ryan glares at him. "What the fuck is this shit, anyway?"

"Quinoa salad." He heads into the kitchen for more salt. Then he opens the fridge to try to find something that'll make this stupid recipe of his mom's taste better. Cheese, he decides, then shreds an entire brick of it.

When he heads back into the living room he discovers Jon and Brendon sitting on either side of Ryan on the couch. Ryan's bowl is in Brendon's hands, almost empty.

"Got any more of that stuff?" Jon smiles at him.

He blinks. "Yeah, sure, just a sec." He heads back into the kitchen and serves the rest of it up, then sprinkles a bit of the cheese on top.

This is the first time Ryan hasn't left the room shortly after Brendon and Jon enter it. He's still a little sensitive about how they all met. Spencer trusts Pete, though, and Pete trusts Zack, and now they're all shacked up until they're either disqualified or.

Spencer tries not to think too hard about the or most days, since the or seems to flip between til they make it big and til they all kill each other. Jon seems pretty cool, really, and he's awesome in the way he won't leave Brendon alone in a room with Ryan but . . .

Spencer sighs. Ryan's fucking pride.

When he emerges from the kitchen with four bowls balanced precariously in his arms, Jon hops up from the couch and grabs two before anything can spill. They stand near the doorway and watch Brendon recount the saga of his first match against the Dreaded Chicagoan Johnny Walker, complete with racket, goggles, and sound effects, until Brendon ends on his back on the floor, legs and arms waving in the air.

"That is how most matches end," Jon agrees. "With Brendon impersonating an overturned turtle." Ryan giggles. Spencer walks over to hand him his bowl and raises his eyebrows when only Ryan can see him. Ryan smiles back, a little rueful and a lot happy, and Spencer starts to reassess his feelings on the or.

-

The first stop on media row is Radio-Canada--not regular Canada, Zach tells them, but Canada in French. The guy speaks rapid fire for the camera, and Jon understands only his own name and Brendon's, badminton, and what he thinks might be the word for United States. Then the reporter turns the microphone to Brendon, standing closest, and asks, in his heavily accented English, "Excellent start, but that last set seemed to get away from you. Is that how it felt out there?"

"It didn't feel good, that's for sure," Brendon laughs.

He's smiling for the camera, but Jon puts a hand on his shoulder because he knows that smile. They just lost, and their Olympics are over.

"You know," Jon says, "this is our first time here, and I'm enough of a dork to say that I just love being here, with my best friend on the court, and our best friends watching in the stands."

The reporter likes that. "Well, congratulations," he says. "Thank you."

"Merci," Jon tries and gets a smile in return.

They make it through the rest of the reporters with that line, with Brendon's wide grin, with Jon's hand low on Brendon's back and leading them to the door. There are no crowds, which surprises Jon. China has felt like one big crowd. He looks up at the stands and realizes that no one else is leaving. There are still matches to be played and medals to be given out.

He doesn't want to go.

"How about we get noodles?" Ryan asks, coming up behind Jon and hooking his chin over his shoulder. They turn together and Spencer hugs them both. Brendon has wrapped the poster around himself, Phelps facing in.

"Noodles," Jon says, and it almost makes things OK.

-

Spencer's hugs are amazing, OK, and make Brendon feel a lot better about the whole losing thing and all he needs to do is look at Spencer the right way and Spencer will fold him up in a huge hug and hold him for a bit and it is possible--possible!--that Brendon is just a little drunk when he asks Ryan where he can get a Spencer Smith of his very own.

Ryan ponders and Brendon sways towards him, angling for a kiss. "You can share my Spencer Smith because I get to share your Jon Walker?" Brendon nods happily and, really, it's all very heartwarming until Brendon starts humming "Sexual Healing."

Soon he's all out singing, and Jon grabs a long jumper's guitar to accompany him, and Ryan tries to hide behind a weightlifter, but Brendon's having none of that because his boy won a fucking bronze medal. That's right, bronze. Michael Phelps couldn't win bronze, could he?

Spencer ushers them back upstairs to the dorms before the swimmers overhear.

-

Guitar in hand, Jon follows into Spencer and Ryan's dorm. The room's are tiny--two beds, a chair, a table and lamp, a garbage can. The bathrooms and showers are down the hall. There are only two things worth doing in the dorms. They live in LA together, they sleep in beds and on couches together, and sometimes they do this together, too.

Jon sits on the bed that's made. He rests the guitar on his knee and strums a quiet rhythm. Brendon sits down at his shoulder and says, "Let us sing the song of our defeat, my friend." Jon laughs, and they do. They sing about all the lonely people and where they all belong. Ryan comes in at the next chorus, but Spencer doesn't sing. He toes off his shoes. He licks his thumb and rubs at a non-existent spot of dirt at the heel, and Jon just barely hides his grin.

"Shut up," Spencer says, leaning back against the headboard and kicking Jon's hip. So Jon slides the guitar to the floor and crawls up on the bed. Spencer's eyes flick up, above Jon's head, to Ryan.

"Not them," Jon says, "This is us." He puts his hand on Spencer's face. He says, "I'm sorry," into the vee of Spencer's crisp white polo. Behind them, Brendon giggles. "I think we forgot that you lost, too."

-

"We should have sex now, since they're gone"

Ryan blinks and lifts his head up from where he's stretching on the floor. "What?"

Brendon gives him a very earnest look from his place on the couch. "I figure it'll be better for our training schedules if we work off this sexual tension now."

"No." He goes back to gripping his toes and stretching his calves. He wants to jump when a hand sweeps down his back but he doesn't want to pull and ruin his stretch. "Brendon, stop."

"You have a really amazing frame," Brendon says quietly. Ryan releases a breath to his knees and sits up.

Brendon is crouched behind him so he asks his question to the empty room. "How are you always so flippant when I know you take this as seriously as I do?"

"Have you ever played badminton?" Brendon crawls around to face him. Ryan pulls his knees up and shakes his head. "It's the fastest racket sport." Brendon smiles wryly at him. "And the birdies don't always do what you want them to do."

"Yeah?" Ryan smiles in recognition. "Neither does the springboard."

"It's not about being the athlete with the most muscles," Brendon touches his knee tentatively. Ryan nods, 'cause he sure understands that, and Brendon continues, "I'm good at drops and Jon's got this skill with slams that's phenomenal."

"I don't know what that means," he admits with an apologetic look.

"It doesn't matter," Brendon laughs genially. "Just--solo was boring but I never thought I'd find a partner that'd both compliment my playing style and stand being around me off court." Brendon shakes his hair forward, not meeting his eyes. "And now he's my best friend."

It's not the same, not quite, but it wrenches something inside of Ryan's chest. "Here," he says, standing and reaching a hand down to help Brendon up. "Help me with some of these resistance stretches."

-

Spencer's quiet on the drive home and Ryan keeps biting at his thumbnail until he's bleeding.

"Stop that," Spencer tells him softly, before Ryan's even realized he's been gnawing at his thumb.

Ryan's out of the car before Spencer's turned the engine off but he waits by Spencer's door before he heads toward the condo. He can't help but run his hand from Spencer's shoulder down to his wrist as he unlocks the door, trying to sweep the stress out of him.

It's not like Ryan meant to be better at this. He wishes he weren't, that Pete hasn't started to talk more and more about focusing on his solo dives. Some days he thinks he feels the blow of Pete's critique of Spencer heavier than Spencer does, but then some days--like today--he knows that Spencer is just hiding how exhausted he is.

"Hey," Jon's soft greeting stops them from simply heading to their respective rooms. He looks pretty wiped, too.

Spencer grunts and sits next to him on the couch, slouching down and curving purposefully until Jon's arm comes up around him. Brendon's sprawled out face down on the floor which, yeah, is pretty disgusting. They haven't gotten around to buying a vacuum.

He hovers, unsure if he should leave Spencer to bitch privately, until Brendon groans, "boooooooooong pleeeeeeeeease," into the carpet. Jon sits up with a "yes please!" look. Ryan must have some particularly awesome look on his face 'cause Spencer cracks up when their eyes meet.

"You, too?" Ryan asks. Jon nods solemnly, and Brendon just repeats his request as he rolls over, exposing his belly and arching as if he's asking for a good petting.

"Today was kinda rough, yeah," Jon stands and heads for their stash. "So I'm declaring an evening off from even thinking about training. We're going to smoke up and drive through Del Taco and use English accents."

"Are we now?" Spencer queries from the floor. He's crawled over and curled up with his head on Brendon's stomach.

"Well," Jon replies as he drops a lighter into Ryan's outstretched hand. "I'm doing a fake English accent. You can make out with Brendon in the backseat."

"I approve!" Brendon sits up and makes grabby hands at the bong.

-

Jon is on his back on Ryan's bed. Ryan is curled up with Spencer's pillow. They've got the TV on mute. There's one built into the wall of every room, and they only broadcast the Olympics. Spencer said he had to get out of the institution. Brendon said something about shopping, spending Ryan's bronze medal bonus, but Jon had other things on his mind.

"It's China, Jon. No one's taking the chance." They've been having this conversation all day. Jon started up after breakfast, after he and Brendon lost their last game, actually.

Jon throws a birdie up to the ceiling and catches it, again and again. "The Canadians. You talked to the Canadians? They won a fucking gold medal stoned."

"There's nothing," Ryan says.

"There's no pot in all of China?"

"Jon." The dorms are perfect, brand new, and there are no cracks in the ceiling for Ryan to count while he's waiting for Jon to wear himself down.

"The entire Vancouver contingent is here, and nobody's getting high? I don't believe that."

Ryan huffs out a breath. He pushes up on his elbows and glares at Jon. "Do you want me to blow you? Would that shut you up?"

"It might help." He gets himself settled. He undoes the top button of his shorts and kicks off his flips flops.

"Fuck off." Ryan flops back down on the bed. "Watch the horses, Jon."

-

Team USA has a huge party when the swimming events end. All medalists are invited. Spencer would rather not be there. Ryan pouts, but Brendon distracts them all and steals the plus one that has always belonged to Spencer. Some days, Spencer really loves Brendon.

"So, what do you want to watch?" Jon asks, settling himself on a bed with the remote. "Boys in shorts or boys in boats?"

Spencer stands at the closed door. He turns the lock. He shakes his head.

"You wanna make out?"

Spencer nods.

"You've been waiting for them to leave."

He climbs on the bed and puts his knees on both sides of Jon's thighs. He starts in on Jon's shorts. "My diving is done, Jon. I deserve this."

"Brendon and I have a tournament in September," Jon tells him, but Spencer isn't listening. He's working Jon's shorts down and off.

"I don't have to look at a pool for a whole month."

"We have a pool in our backyard, you know."

Sitting back on Jon's hips, Spencer pulls off his shirt. He helps Jon with his, kissing when they're close enough.

"If you're done diving," Jon asks, settling back on the bed and stretching out, "does that mean you're gonna grow the beard back?"

Spencer lets out a long deep groan and hunches down over him. "I'm trying to have sex here."

"I liked the beard." He rubs his bristled cheek against Spencer's smooth one.

"I liked you, until you made me work for it," Spencer snarls. He can feel Jon hard, underneath him, but his hands are stretched above his head, a subconscious mirror of a diver's starting form. They're not on Spencer's hips, where he wants them. "Jon."

Jon's arms come up, slowly, and his hands fall, slower still, into Spencer's hair, down his neck and shoulders, gripping and pulling Spencer down onto Jon's bare chest. Jon holds him there.

"In a minute," Jon says. "I'm happy. Even if we're both big losers."

"Can't we save the memories for home?" He scratches his nails over Jon's belly, loving the way Jon shivers. "I didn't get my full Olympic experience yet."

"Oh," Jon says, like he's only just arrived. "Is that what the free condoms are about?"

-

Jon is the same height as the Chinese, or at least the ones not on the Olympic basketball team. Brendon's not quite sure why Jon's so sensitive about his height--Brendon's shorter than he is and he's not normally concerned about it.

But, well, right now he's glad he found a box to stand on.

"You're really, really tall," he informs Michael Phelps. "And really broad." He spreads his hands to the width of Phelps's shoulders, to demonstrate. "And I heard you get to eat eight thousand calories every day."

"Yeah, something like that," Phelps responds, taking a step back, then he raises his drink in a salute before saying, "Oh, look, there's Piersol," and disappearing.

"Hrmph," Brendon responds, signaling for the bartender. When the bartender sets the next round in front of him, Brendon remembers, "Hey, just a sec--my boyfriend, he has the money." He grins, letting it take over his face. "And the medal!"

Ryan's hand slips around his waist and drops a crumpled bill in front of the bartender. Brendon pushes back into Ryan's space, his heat, shimmying just a bit. It's indiscreet and perfect.

"You know we can get free condoms back at Village?" Ryan whispers in his ear. "I'm wondering how many we could sneak back stateside."

"Sell 'em on eBay?" Brendon tips his head back on to Ryan's shoulder. "With Ryan Ross the bronze medalist's signature?"

Ryan presses a few kisses down from his temple but pulls away before Brendon can twist far enough to lick into his mouth. "Finish your drink," Ryan whispers. "There's a dark corner with our name on it."

-

Zack doesn't want them having sex during training. Pete's rules aren't as hard and fast.

Brendon snickers. "Sorry," and he rubs his arm where Spencer hit him.

After the meeting, that night around the dinner table, Ryan offers that there are many different ways to define sex. Jon agrees, waving his fork in the air. Spencer tries to ignore them when they get like this--philosophical. Zack needs to be cracking down on the pot, not the blowjobs. The pot is why there are blowjobs.

"And, well, what about sex with someone who isn't your partner?" Ryan suggests. "That can't be disruptive to the training process."

"No, no," Jon agrees. "Not at all."

Jon once told Spencer that he and Brendon had slept together after their first win as a doubles team. They were ecstatic and high on adrenaline, but the morning after was less awesome. "He was already my best friend," Jon slurred into Spencer's ear. They were on the floor, backs against the couch. Spencer had lost track of the joint, but Jon didn't need anymore. "Then he's looking at me like that. How do you let a guy down?"

"You let him know that you love him, and that you will love him, and that it doesn't change the things that matter." Jon wasn't looking for a real answer and he was almost asleep anyway, but Spencer knows something about sleeping with your best friend.

They've all settled into new partnerships, now, ones more serious, less convenient, even as meets and matches get bigger, further away. Ryan and Spencer have already made Olympic trials--Ryan in the singles event, too. Jon and Brendon will be in Astoria next week to ensure they all get a summer in China. They'll be there to cheer each other on.

-

Brendon's aware that his partner--partners--and Spencer--are taking turns staying awake with him on the way-too-long plane ride to Beijing and he's really, really grateful because there's no way he's going to be able to sleep. They're on their way to the Olympics.

"Hey," Spencer's hand clamps down on his jittery knee.

"Hey," he curls in Spencer's direction and kisses his nose. "Thanks for staying up with me."

"No problem." Spencer stretches in his chair and suddenly seems taller, broader, though he's much less intimidating now that Pete's made him shave his beard. "Couldn't stay asleep the entire time, the seats are too uncomfortable."

Brendon hmms and hands one of his earbuds to Spencer. "Here, listen with me."

"'K." They huddle close over his iPod, having silent arguments over what to play next, until Spencer slips the hold button on after Brendon starts the Grey Album. "C'mere," he pushes at the arm rest between them up until it disappears and pulls Brendon over until they're nestled together like half-matryoshkas. Brendon gives into the sensation, lets Spencer hold him. He doesn't fall asleep but he feels it when Spencer does, feels Spencer's hand on his belly go heavy and lax.

The tension drains out of both of them. He doesn't move until the album's over, and then only to weasel the iPod out of the seatback in front of Spencer.

When he's half turned around he looks up and finds Ryan gazing at them with a sleepy smile. He flashes a thumbs up that Ryan echoes and twists back under Spencer's arm.

-

China looked big from the plane, but here on the ground, it seems doable. That doesn't mean Spencer's stomach has stopped with the somersaults (toes pointed, head tucked in). And his palms are sweating.

"That's 'cause it's hotter than Satan's crotch," Jon says, and Brendon doubles over with laughter. Spencer makes sure to wipe his hand on his jeans before grabbing hold of Jon's.

They have today before the Opening Ceremonies and a couple of days after that before the first qualifying rounds. Jon's set on seeing Beijing outside the Athletes Village, Ryan wants to inspect the pool again before they dive, and Brendon seems intent on saying, Hello!, to everyone in China.

But first, they need to crash. Ryan catches Spencer's eye over Jon's head, and they both agree to get to the Village and Brendon to a bed before he falls over.

There are sixteen days ahead of them, and maybe even a medal. This is what Ryan meant beside the pool, all those years ago, and Spencer gets it now. He gets it.

-

To Jon's surprise, it's Spencer that drags them all to the closing ceremony. There'd been no question about attending the opening but Jon had been under the impression that they'd all skip the end, hopefully since they'd be lost in the middle of some provincial sight seeing.

But Spencer tells them about this guy Gabe who--well, Spencer's hazy on the details, but Gabe is apparently competing for Uruguay in the summer games but also coaches one of the USA bobsledding teams, the one from Chicago. Spencer had promised to meet up with Gabe at closing to talk about plans for Vancouver.

Jon's feeling like he could do with a good dose of Chicago--it's been a while, he's not leaving Los Angeles but he kinda misses home--but more than that he wants to be there, be in Canada, cheering for other athletes, for new friends.

Ryan grabs his hand as they enter the stadium, grabs it and squeezes. Jon grins over at him, knowing that Ryan doesn't consider the roar of the crowd any less Jon's than his, knowing Ryan's medal will decorate their condo in some ridiculous but fitting way, hanging on a raffia ribbon near the door or resting on a little homemade podium. Ryan grins back and, oh, yeah, Jon is so glad the games are over and they can smoke up again. He presses his grin into Ryan's neck, quickly, then pulls them both forward to grab Spencer and Brendon's hands.

-

It's been a full hour of waiting but now the United States is on deck to march into the Bird's Nest. Brendon thinks they should all hold hands.

"So we don't get lost," he explains. Spencer rolls his eyes, but Brendon isn't fooled. Spencer's just as excited to be here. You shouldn't keep things bottled up inside, Brendon tells him all the time, and then Spencer gets pissed and withholds his dessert.

"I'll hold your hand," Ryan says, and Brendon has to kiss him. It's a whole new country where he gets to kiss Ryan. Their fingers slide together, and Brendon won't let go until this night is over.

On the other side, Ryan takes hold of Spencer. Brendon hangs on to Jon's waistband. Jon has three cameras--the digital SLR he doesn't let anyone touch, a point-and-shoot that Brendon's allowed to use, the Flip video hanging on a cord around his neck--and no hands free.

"You're such a dork," Spencer tells him. He has to yell it over the sounds of the ceremonies. Jon's taking pictures of the flags. Then they hear the announcer, in English, French, and Chinese, "The United States of America!" and Brendon kind of can't believe the cheer that comes next.


End file.
